


4. Truth or Dare

by somepeoplearewild



Series: Ever After Oneshot Series [4]
Category: One Direction (Band), The Wanted (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Dubious Consent, F/M, Genderswap, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, Multi, Oral Sex, Underage - Freeform, cigarette girl!louis, greaser!harry, greaser!zayn, it's not really dubious consent niall's just being weird about wanting the d, just a little religion, school girl!niall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-14 09:03:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somepeoplearewild/pseuds/somepeoplearewild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn and Harry roam the city streets, smoking and being sexy… oh and corrupting an innocent mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	4. Truth or Dare

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously if it's bad– even if you can't make it through the whole thing– TELL ME so I can right my wrong.

****

**“Give in to the slow descent**  
 **Give in to the trust to feel it**  
 **Give in to the pull and the push and the forth and back**  
 **We’re not going to slow you down**  
 **We’re not gonna hold you to it**  
 **I guess it depends, in the end**  
 **After all we're all friends here”**  
 **Truth or Dare – Marianas Trench**

"Hey, guys. I need you to do me a solid."  
  
Cue a collective groan because Siva _always_ does this. He always sets things up just right so that he has to be five places at once. He’s too nice and overschedules. It’s not even like he asks them for _huge_ favours. They’re mostly little things like picking up his car from the shop while he’s fixing bikes. They all know he’s just a pushover, but it does call for a group-wide questioning of his sexuality with how extremely needy Siva's been for 'solids' lately.  
  
"C'mon, lads," he pleads, desperate enough that he doesn't mind looking like a puss in front of his reputably tough friends.  
  
"Liam, are you okay?!"  
  
The sandy-haired boy looks at the girl in confusion. Her slate grey eyes practically scream ‘ _play along_ ’ before he crunches over in pain.  
  
The girl— Louis— feels no remorse for stabbing her boyfriend in the foot with the heel of her stiletto. Instead, she pretends to comfort him and drags him out of the room with the sole purpose of not having to do whatever Siva's gone all puppy-eyed for.  
  
That of course leads to a mass of screeching chairs and rushed shouts of forgotten previous engagements.  
  
Siva almost feels abandoned. Almost.

Lucky for him, he still has two people left. One is curled up, snoring with his head on the edge of the table, and the other one is flat on his ass from sheer clumsiness and trying to convey something like ' _sorry I tried to ditch you_ ' with a sheepish grin.  
  
"Great!" Siva smiles, ready to hit the two with his pitch whether they be conscious or not. "So my mate's in from Ireland and it's his last day, and we wanna go out, but he's got this sister right. Pretty face and all but damned innocent and we can't do shit with her so would you please babysit her for like until tomorrow?"  
  
Harry shrugs. It could have been worse. But he still doesn't want to sacrifice his weekend to watch a little brat. "Where's their parents?"  
  
"With mine. Getting smashed." He notices the approaching curve of rejection on Harry's lips. "Please! I'll- I'll... do something! Just please! Zayn'll help!"  
  
"Whaddufug dijou jussay?" Zayn— the boy previously dead to the world— slurs at the mention of his name. Over the years of having friends like the one he’s got, he's learned to keep his ears up even in sleep so he doesn't get stuck taking out an ugly cousin again. (Like there were _NO_ redeeming qualities about that girl. The universe was feeling spiteful the day of Beretta Parker’s conception.)  
  
"We'll drop her here at five."  
  
The drowsy boy suddenly perks. He hasn't agreed to this dropping off of female. He wants no part of this. There will be no repeats of _The **Park** ening_. "What?" He looks to Harry who's only just bothered to get off the warehouse's dusty floor. "Dropping who? Why?"  
  
"She's not that bad. I swea-"  
  
"Ohhh no. No no no. Nope no..."

[][][][]

" _Nooooo_ ," Zayn whines into the phone.

Siva (who’s trying so hard not to laugh at Zayn’s hippo-drenched-in-peanut butter wail of distress) says he's almost there and hangs up.

Zayn glares at Harry and punches him. It's all this dick's fault for not doing anything but shrugging and making the occasional noise of protest. Really, Zayn's lost as to why Harry doesn't know this is the reason they don't send him on field work. He'd just shrug and 'dunno' at gunpoint.  
  
"Don't give me that look. She's from Ireland. Name the chances we'll ever see the kid again."  
  
"Except when her parents fucking kill us because what are we doing taking care of children?! I'm sure they'll respond well to their six-year-old with a septum piercing because she fucking giggled and you let her!"  
  
"Calm down. I'm pretty sure six-year-old girls want like sparkly butterfly tattoos."  
  
Zayn is this close to smacking Harry with a wrench that's just laying around when a loud sequence of knocks interrupts and three sets of footsteps come clomping down the stairs, not to mention two very loud Irishmen rambling about god knows what. Who really understands them?  
  
The racket bursts into the room, and Zayn grips the wrench tighter, wondering if anyone would miss Siva.  
  
"Don't worry. They bring the party... or whatever you're into. Ponies?"  
  
"I'm not five," a gruff yet feminine voice replies. It's like the voice belongs to a preteen boy almost, the way it crackles and rests a little higher than the line for femmy jokes.  
  
So it's still completely shocking when the voice rounds the corner, and she most definitely is not five or six. Maybe with a teen behind it.  
  
Zayn, as prideful as ever, doesn't give anyone the satisfaction of knowing he's looked at her long enough to create a very vivid mental image of her in his lap doing things he hopes to god six-year-olds don’t know about.  
  
He can't really be blamed though. She has the messiest blonde waves and her skin is off-puttingly pale and blushed. Not to mention the way she's covered neck to toe in some form of cloth-- from what he can see she's got on a coat with black hose and boots. Her body's so hidden. It's scary how curious it makes Zayn.  
  
"These are the lads-- Harry and Zayn. Guys, this is Greg, and that wonderful ray of sarcastic sunshine is his little sister Niall." Siva introduces them then sort of hops back from the group, tugging Greg along with him. "Take care of her," he half-shouts midway up the stairs.  
  
"She better be a virgin when we get back!" Greg yells from the top. He feels it's his duty to say something at least. This way he won't feel bad getting sloshed while his sister is with two strangers.  
  
Once they're gone, Niall spins around to give Harry and Zayn equally judgemental looks. "I have a knife, so don't touch me," she grumbles at them, feeling at her pocket for comfort. She feels less than safe with her brother's hooligan friends. She knows they're hooligans because what normal person hangs out in the basement of an abandoned warehouse and has a secret knocking code and tattoos that look so ridiculous? Also, the place reeks of smoke. And the two boys have on too much leather to be anything but male strippers or bikers maybe.  
  
"That's cute," Zayn chuckles condescendingly, tossing Harry a grin that's far from what a grin should mean. "Have you got a rape whistle as well?"  
  
Harry slaps at Zayn playfully before wandering over to the rigid girl. "Niall is a boy's name," he says, low like it's a secret she's not yet been informed of.  
  
"Funny, Harry is too," she snips, backing further away from him.  
  
Harry deflects her insult. He's used to it. Comes with the hair. "Why don't you take off your coat? Stay for a while. Get comfy."  
  
"No."  
  
Zayn smirks because she's walked right into this. "Then keep it on and let's go." He takes cool strides over to the stairs and nods for Harry and the _little bitch_ (as he’s dubbed her in his head) to follow.  
  
"You must think I'm stupid!" she exclaims as Harry sort of crowds her up the stairs. He just keeps getting closer to her and she keeps moving backward.

[][][][]

"Let's hit a bar or something."  
  
Zayn and Harry stand dutifully on either side of Niall, blocking her from getting away.  
  
"But I'm not of age!"  
  
"Neither is Harry."  
  
Harry gives Niall a lazy smile and shrugs. "What's a beer or two?"  
  
"Illegal."  
  
Both boys chuckle at her. Siva spoke the truth. Pretty face, but damned innocent and can't do shit with her.  
  
"Well then," Zayn goes, pulling out a white stick _of death_ and lighting it. He offers one to Harry who accepts and looks to Niall.  
  
How dare he even ask! What kind of a girl is she being taken for? It's all on the surface with her. She's not a hidden rebel like they seem to think she is. She's got no wild streak.  
  
"You disgust me."  
  
"You're mean."  
  
"You're vile."  
  
"Do you feel this sexual tension between us?"  
  
She scoffs and speeds up a little, and Zayn lets her, amused by the way she's had so easily.  
  
"I wasn't kidding," Harry whispers to Zayn, flicking the ash off his cigarette.  
  
"Seemed it."  
  
"Well I was trying not to scare her away.”

“Nice work.”

“How would _you_ seduce someone like... that?" Straight-edged. Sheltered. Stubborn.  
  
Zayn barks out a laugh at Harry. _That_ was seduction? Zayn passes his fag to Harry and claps him on the back. "Show you how it's done."  
  
Zayn speeds up until he's beside Niall who is blatantly ignoring him. "Sorry about Harry."  
  
Niall rolls her eyes and does this thing with her nose-- sort of like it twitches but cuter like a bunny and so subtle Zayn's one of the few people who'd catch it.  
  
"He doesn't know how to treat a lady."  
  
"And you do?”

“Wouldn’t tell you I did if I didn’t.”

“You didn’t tell me you did.” She spares him a glance, masking the way she secretly enjoys it every time she outsmarts them.  It feels weird—satisfying— to finally feel _better than_. She’s never felt better than anyone or anything before. She’s never felt better than her brother who’s got universities gravelling at his feet, or public school kids who get by without affording private tuition. She’s never felt better than her friends who all get perfect scores while she’s balancing on the edge of her A. She’s never even felt better than a table because fuck if tables haven’t be useful all of human history.

But she feels better than Zayn and Harry. They can’t write her off as the ‘ _dumb one_ ’ because she’s not the one who’s part of an evil teenage greaser cult.

Zayn gives an amused smile to cover for his surprise. It’s usually pretty easy to talk circles around girls. Then again, those girls are usually pretty easy. Harry snorts in the background, thoughts the same as Zayn’s.

“Not as naïve as I thought,” he compliments… err she thinks it’s a compliment… maybe?

Niall’s eyes roll again. Her eyelashes flutter cutely as they flick away the emotion. “I’m not naïve. I’m plenty aware of the fine print.”

“Well, the rest of the contract says we’ve got a good time to show you,” Harry responds a few beats later than a normal person would. It’s highly likely his babysitter exposed him to too much weed in his developing stages… At least he’s pretty.

Harry slings an arm around Niall’s shoulder, noting how she flinches but doesn’t actually stab him. He mouths  ‘Jericho’ over Niall’s head to Zayn who catches it just barely. Zayn’s only eight centimetres taller than Niall (thirteen if you count his ridiculous hair).

Zayn tips his chin gently in agreement.

Jericho is a perfect place to go. It’s a pub not even two streets away—in fact the boys can see the red scarf over its entrance from where they are now. It’s never too busy, being mostly a haven for old men (“old like in their thirties” as Louis would put it) to think of the old days (“like the Eighties or summat”) without getting the old life beat out of them by their old wives (“who caused this whole shit by not putting out”).

On top of never being too busy, the owner of the pub owes the boys quite a lot seeing as he keeps getting himself into bad situations and the boys keep saving his arse. That means free drinks and no ID checks for the boys and their plus ones.

“How about some eightball?” Zayn suggests to the rigid blonde, slapping Harry’s hand away from where it’s tickling at his ear over Niall’s shoulder. Of course this is all a ploy to get her close enough to alcohol for peer pressure to take effect, but she doesn’t need to know that.

Especially not when his plan seems to work and she lights up a bit at the mention of pool. She tries to mask it, but Harry feels the involuntary wiggle of happiness she does under his arm. Before she can even protest the slightest, they’re already inside the bar with its smoky haze and sweet cigar aroma.

Niall pretend coughs and tries to look displeased, but she practically grew up in places like these seeing as her parents are the only people on either side of her family not into the business of getting go-nowheres drunk. Consequently, they also aren’t around much, leaving Niall with her brother who leaves her with other relatives. So she’s used to being pawned off; just not to being pawned off on people who constantly look like they want to eat her whole.

Niall doesn’t hesitate to wrench herself from Harry’s dirty albeit cupcake-scented hold and pick up a cue. It’s as nice a stick as any hole-in-the-wall establishment could afford, medium-length with a dull black shaft. She gets a grip on the square of chalk and grinds it onto the tip, ignoring the way two sets of eyes follow the flicking of her wrist hungrily.

Zayn’s the first to snap out of it, grabbing his own stick and knocking on the back of Harry’s knees with it. “You look like you know what you’re doing,” he says conversationally, while Harry’s hand mindlessly reaches out for a red and blue wrapped cue. He frowns when he notices it’s too short for his long arms.

Niall looks up through her pretty brown eyelashes and shrugs. “And?—Curly- sorry _Harry_ , tan stick to your left no your other left.” She pre-emptively tacks on ‘no your other left’ just in case Harry really is as slow as he seems to be.

Apparently, Harry’s not (or her plan actually works) and scowls at her as he plucks the cue off the rack on the wall.

“Hold the stick,” Niall commands Zayn, thrusting the sleek piece of wood at him. She’s in her element here. Pool is what she does, and if her inflexible Catholic private school would let her join the billiards club, they might actually do well enough to compete against the non-Christian schools in tournaments that matter. But they won’t let her because she is a girl and the billiards club only garnered male interest. Here, however, she plans to whoop the greasy little behinds of these two fools.

Niall unbuttons her heavy black peacoat then snatches her cue back from Zayn, willing herself not to beat Harry’s face in with the stick at the low whistle he emits. Niall is pretty; she knows that. She’s got a nice thing going on with her face even if she does despise the tan freckles mucking up the porcelain white skin genetics has gifted her with.

“Can one of you rack up the balls? I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept.”

Both boys stop to gape at Niall because when did she get so… daring? Zayn remembers how she said she has no wild streak, but now he thinks maybe it’s not so much that she doesn’t have a wild streak and more that she’s just been domesticated. But you can raise a tiger from a baby. You can let it live in your house like a kitty and pet it like a kitty, but it’s still an animal with animal instincts. All it takes is one sure move in the wrong direction, and your pet tiger will kill you.

So what can he do well, what provokes Niall, and where do these things overlap? _Sex._ (And being outsmarted, but that doesn’t have such a dramatic effect does it?)

She’ll definitely take the bait on this one. She’s so confident yet vulnerable; shy yet dominant—who’s to say she can’t be innocent yet naughty when something’s so wrong yet so right? Besides, screwing around with your friend’s friend’s little sister isn’t exactly off-limits according to guy code either. Zayn doesn’t even know or necessarily like Greg, but he likes Niall. A lot.

So does Harry, but probably for more obvious reasons like the way she wears that knee-length pink flowery skirt and baby blue long-sleeved button up like lacy lingerie. The skirt swishes across her hips with her adorably boyish steps, sometimes swinging just up to the middle of her thighs teasing him even though he can’t see through her opaque black tights. And the things the heels on her black boots do for those legs… Harry might actually die of a boner… or, like, half a boner. He’s, in terms of desperation, pretty okay with not hooking up with Niall if he doesn’t. He’s always got Zayn. Zayn is hot too and a horny drunk. Shouldn’t be too hard to get him in bed (table, car, closet) again for the thirtieth ‘ _last time_ ’.

Still Harry wouldn’t mind seeing her naked on the table back at the warehouse. He quite likes boobs if he’s honest, and Niall’s are the perfect size for his hands.

“Harry knows how to handle balls better than I do,” says Zayn, smirking just a little at the twitch in Niall’s eyebrow.

“But I can’t fit my hands in the holes,” Harry replies dumbly while gesturing towards a pocket. “When I pick up the balls, I can’t pull my hand out.”

Zayn has to clench his jaw to keep from laughing out loud at Harry. He’s cute, but he’s slow. Meanwhile, Niall is trying to match shades with the 3 ball. Not because Harry is a walking innuendo and an idiot, but because the way Zayn’s jaw tightened causing the veins to strain under the beige skin of his neck made her have thoughts she’d not only have to repent for profusely but also made more than her face heat up. It’s embarrassing, but also unavoidable with the lifestyle she lives.

She doesn’t… _indulge_ in her sexual desires. For one, it is a sin obviously. Second, she saw those pictures of STDs. She saw them with her eyes and she will never unsee them. And third, she likes to think of herself as pure. Purity is what she loves. Purity is what she is—pure enough anyway.

“I’ll get them then,” Niall sighs. “But if either of you even think a joke, I will land a ball in your eye socket.”

Once Niall is finished and Zayn’s forced himself to talk about Britney Spears’ new perfume for two minutes, Niall tells the boys to pick a number between one and ten and whoever’s closet breaks. Zayn says nine, Harry says five, but Niall tells them they’re both wrong and she’s closest because she says seven and seven is the number she’s thinking of.

“I break!” she cheers, getting down behind the cue ball to line up her shot. She balances the stick just right, then strikes the white ball dead centre. Niall sighs happily on the inside at the crack of the first ball hitting the second ball hitting the third and fourth balls and on. It is the sound of impending victory and the sound of home.

She pockets the 5 ball and the 3 ball then looks at the two boys as if to say ‘are you stupid enough to keep playing if so it’s your turn’.

“I’m on her side!” Harry quickly announces as he speed walks for the opposite side of Zayn where Niall is. He’s a dirty little traitor, but that just might work to Zayn’s advantage. Harry’s terrible at… well, everything, though he tries so hard.

“Fine, be like that. In that case, why don’t we make a little bet? Seeing as I’m unfairly outnumbered, it might just work in your best interest, Princess. Yes, I see that sceptical look of displeasure; there’s no need for it. Just something simple. You two win, I’ll hit on that old guy over there. But if I win…” He pretends to think then suddenly has the most brilliant fake idea. “If I win, Niall has to have a beer.”

“Mate, I’m Irish. Even if you did win, you wouldn’t win.”

“Alright then, if you really think you can’t beat me, then it’s off.”

“No—wait…”

 

 

[][][][]

“No!” Niall cries as Harry sinks the eight-ball. He grins sheepishly and raises his hands like ‘what can you do?’, but Niall could honestly do a lot right now like kill that curly-haired invalid. “The ball was on the other side of the table!” she shouts at him. “How do you miss that?! How the fuck-” Niall stops short, gasping and covering her mouth. “I didn’t say that!” she adds quickly as if it would help at all.

It doesn’t.

Harry makes that low-to-high ‘ _oooooooo_ ’ sound everyone used to make in pre-school when you got in trouble while Zayn grins so patronisingly she could kill him too. Then it dawns on her.

“You planned this!”

“Did not.”

“Did too!” She points her finger, but Zayn’s already half-way to the bar with this arrogant skip to his step. He returns to the three with two bottles and some fruity drink for Harry, and passes them around.

Niall stares at her bottle with contempt. Other than being against the law, drinking doesn’t exactly break any of her moral codes. She’s Catholic and Irish. If there were any complaints about drinking, they’ve been long lost where she’s from. She just hates what alcohol does to people. One bottle turns to two turns to three turns to-

Niall might be fucked.  Like really, really fucked.

The trio (but mostly Niall) stumbles out of the pub’s door, draped on each other and giggling about the obscene hand gestures Harry kept making at some middle-aged man in the corner. Honestly, he was asking for it with his blue eyes and broad shoulders.

“He was so shocked, Haz,” Zayn laughs.

“Shut up. You know he thought Harry was cute. Kept looking at your blowjob lips,” Niall giggles, pressing her finger against the plush redness of his lips.

“My _what_ lips?”

“Blowjob lips,” she repeats like it’s nothing. “You know when someone sticks their cock in your-”

“Yeah, I know. I know what it is.”

“You do have blowjob lips,” Zayn smiles, reaching across Niall’s shoulders to tug at the hair on the nape of his neck. “Fantastic blowjobs.”

Niall’s eyes light up in shock. “You do that to each other?”

“Course. You never had someone stick a cock in _your_ mouth?” Harry retorts, seemingly quicker when drunk.

Niall blushes and looks down. Of course she hasn’t, but it’s not like she’s never thought about trying it. Especially when that student teacher came from the big church. Good Lord, he was beautiful. She’ll never tell anyone that though. She doesn’t want to have to take it up with the nuns after the way they reacted when she was caught chewing gum during Mass once. Never again.

“We’ll have to fix that then.” Zayn spots the black van they use for business parked outside of the warehouse and gets a terrible mental image, which has him smirking. He leads them to the van wordlessly, just pulling Niall along, then pulls out his keys and stabs drunkenly at the keyhole until the key slides in and he can click it to the left. Harry gets the idea and picks up Niall as Zayn opens the door, setting her on the floor inside.

She scoots backwards, eyes wide at the two boys climbing in after her.

The doors are shut, then Zayn’s in front of her popping the giant buttons of her coat undone.

“What are you-”

“Just trust us,” Zayn cuts her off, pulling her into the first kiss since Sean lost his damn mind when they were thirteen. He pushes the woollen coat off her arms, then takes to the buttons on her shirt before Harry pulls him back and replaces the taste of beer and menthol smoke with the taste of lemons and Pinnacle Whipped.

“We’re doctors,” he giggles against her lips, but she’s still so taken aback she doesn’t know what to do. Or maybe she’s just really, really wasted and passed out somewhere and this is all a dream. That’s why she can’t control the way her body responds to Zayn’s hands running up the backs of her legs. That would never be so delightful in real life.

“How much did I drink?” she mumbles back, squinting her eyes at the bridge of Harry’s nose in confusion.

“Two bottles.”

“Impossible. I’m Irish,” she replies breathily, pushing into Zayn’s touch and consequently grinding into Harry who’s nearly sitting on her lap. He bites her lip and pushes the last pearly button through the loop. Harry doesn’t bother taking it off; he likes the way she looks with her blue shirt parted on either side of her creamy skin, exposing the pale pink bra making her seem even more childishly innocent with its girlish ruffles. Then there’s a little black bow right in between what reminds Harry that she is not such a little girl after all.

Harry’s wide hands come down on Niall’s shoulders and will her elbows to spread from under her weight, lying her down on the floor of the van. He follows her down, pressing kisses down her throat far too chaste to be anything but a promise for more. “We’re gonna take real good care of you.”

“Wha-” Niall gasps when one of them—Zayn probably because Harry’s got his face buried in her chest—teases his finger around the waistband of her tights. Slowly he slides them down, chasing the newly exposed skin with his warm breath. “ _Christ_ ,” she groans, helping him out. She lets him pull off her boots, then she steps on the toes of her tights, working one leg out then the other.

“On Earth, they call me Zayn.”

Niall can practically hear the smirk in his voice and she wants to kick him so badly, but if this is going where her better judgement went (to hell), Zayn’ll get what he deserves.

“Don’t be a jackass, Zayn. Make her feel good,” Harry mumbles into the flowery scent of her neck.

“Yeh, and what about me?” Zayn sits forward and rests his hands on the crease where Niall’s legs meet the rest of her body. He has every intention of making her _feel good_. That’s all he’s wanted since he saw her.

His thumb pattern swirls into her cream-soft skin, a smirk twitching on his lips at the sound of a breathy moan being broken off.

“I’ll take care of that,” Harry replies. Niall doesn’t remember what to.

Zayn hums and looks back down, noticing a wetness on the crotch of Niall’s panties that must’ve been building up for hours. He reaches down with one hand and drags his middle finger down the spot.

Niall whines quietly and pushes her hips forward. “No – stop,” she says quietly. This is so everything she doesn’t believe in; it’s not supposed to feel so fucking good.

And Zayn listens. He stops touching the outside of her bottoms. He puts his hand back where it was between on the edge of her thigh, then uses the position to brace his weight on his arms and duck his head down level with the navy blue boy shorts. Niall’s skin is so pure and white against the dark colour of the fabric, against Zayn’s skin. He wants to ruin her. He wants to leave bruises of fingerprints across the snowy expanse of her body. He wants to see her try to cover up the marks when her brother comes back for her. He wants to see her come apart underneath him with Harry’s cock in her mouth.

Zayn mouths at the blue, digging the tip of his nose where he knows her clit is. He pushes hot breath through the fabric, satisfied when Niall’s knees come up and she gasps.

“Zayn! No!”

Zayn braces his forearm across her pelvis and slaps at Harry’s bottom. He wants to see what he’s doing to her, how she says no but means yes.

Harry huffs a little but moves nonetheless. He pulls Niall forward then manoeuvres his body behind her to where she’s leaned against his chest between his legs.

Just like Zayn knew she was, Niall’s face is the exact opposite of someone who wants him to stop, so he won’t. He presses his knuckles against her and rocks his fist back and forth against the cotton, spreading the dampness around the inside of her pants.

Niall whines, girlish and high, a former noise of protest lost in arousal. She needs not to give in. She needs to remember why this is wrong. She needs… him to press harder. Fuck’s sake will he _do_ something already? She tenses underneath his arm, unable to push her hips up to get a just little bit more pressure. “I hate y—no! don’t!” she gasps as Zayn’s slender hands finally remove the only thing left to stand between morality and ecstasy.

Zayn’s sharp teeth skim her thighs as he works his way inward.

“So pretty,” Harry whispers into Niall’s neck where he’s been sucking little marks across her pale skin. He knows how much every girls craves to hear it— how much Niall deserves it by the sweet noises of denial slipping from her mouth.

Niall’s chants of _no_ and _don’t_ break into a sound sinfully drenched in innocent arousal as the tip of Zayn’s tongue flicks at her coyly like he doesn’t know _exactly_ what he’s doing to her. His tongue curves out to meet her wholly, curling up and around so slow.

Niall’s hands fly up to clutch at Harry’s over her chest. “ _Fuuuuuck_ ,” she moans out, tossing her head back into Harry’s shoulder. He’s so broad and solid wherever she touches him. This is what boy feels like.

Zayn sucks at her clit, lightly like a reward for obscenity. He brings one finger to her hole, unbreached and tight. What Zayn wouldn’t give to have that wrapped around his cock, wetter and hotter than Harry’s heaven-sent mouth. But Zayn’s not keen on first times, so he sucks hard to distract Niall while he pushes in a finger.

Niall’s walls clamp around Zayn, a surprised shout coming from her once pink lips, red now from teeth. “Fucking _shit_! Fuckfuck—fuck _YES…_ ” She falls back against Harry, squeezing his hands around her boobs as her back arches, desperate to feel more of the pain, of Zayn’s mouth and Harry’s body pressed against hers.

Behind her, Harry is about to die, he thinks. Niall keeps not-quite-bumping against where his dick sits hard in his blue jeans, constricted and probably purple against his pale thigh. He just needs a little friction—a little _anything_. Harry’s about to push Niall out of the way and handle himself, but then Zayn hits something just right, and Niall sits forward, digging the heel of her hand into his crotch just the way he needs her to keep on. One of his hands clasps over hers, holding it in place so that he can grind into it desperately. His other one fumbles with undoing his jeans until they finally relent and he stops grinding to pull his dick out. He sighs at the relief as Niall whimpers in confusion.

“Turn over, babe. Hands and knees,” Zayn commands in a mumble, and if Niall wasn’t so fucking worked up for release she would protest. But she is, so she repositions obediently, letting Zayn pull her hips down to his face.

Niall glances down at Harry’s cock, his hand frozen at the base. She’s already going to hell, why not? Niall gives Harry a look through her lashes misleadingly full of innocent curiosity, then she dips down and runs her tongue along the head of his cock. It’s salty and kind of sour but worth it when Harry releases a strangled yelp. Niall takes the top in her mouth, not daring to go any further but timing the swish of her tongue with Zayn’s beneath her, sucking suddenly when Zayn does the same.

She pulls off and licks up the side as she rubs down into the wicked suction of Zayn’s lips. “Fuck,” she mutters against Harry’s cock. She rocks down onto Zayn’s face, forgetting Harry completely.

Harry takes his dick into his hand, pumping it in front of Niall’s face too far gone to care about getting his spunk in Niall’s pretty, brown eyelashes.

“Zayn!” she cries out. She’s never been this close to something good before. Then again, she’s never had a stranger’s tongue lapping at her cunt in the back of a van before so this is a time for new things. She holds her breath until she feels like exploding, and then she _does_ , digging her clit into Zayn’s mouth as she seeks out pleasure. She sits up just as something warm and slippery splashes onto her chest, a long and drawn out moan coming from Harry’s lips.

Niall can vaguely recall being shifted off of Zayn’s face and collapsing against the wall as Zayn tugged his pants off and pulled Harry forward. Anyway, does it really matter? She’s back at private school now, locked up in her room and reliving that moment with a hand between her legs. These are sacred grounds after all. Every inch should be christened, including her bed. 

**Author's Note:**

> So if you actually read the fic list on my tumblr, then you might’ve been all “WHERE IS NARRY?!” AND I WAS TOO AFTER LIKE TWO DAYS OF WRITING AND I FREAKED OUT AND I ALMOST D I E D. So I fixed this and that’s why it strays from the original plan. I'm pretty sure truth or dare has the most stupid ending and also it deviates from the original prompt so much i don't know what to say.
> 
> So yeah. Forgive me padre for I have sinned.
> 
> Also I usually don't write smut and this is why.


End file.
